Christine knew Piccadilly, Leicester Square, Regent Street, a bit of Oxford Street, the Green Park, Hyde Park, Victoria Station, Charing Cross. Beyond these, London, measureless as the future andthe past, surrounded her with the unknown. But she had not been afraid, because of her convictionthat men were much the same everywhere, and that she had power over them. She did not exercisethis power consciously; she had merely to exist and it exercised itself. For her this power was themystical central fact of the universe. Now, however, as she stood in the Promenade, it seemed to herthat something uncanny had happened to the universe. Surely it had shifted from its pivot! Her basicconviction trembled. Men were not the same everywhere, and her power over them was a delusion.Englishmen were incomprehensible; they were not human; they were apart. The memory of thehundreds of Englishmen who had yielded to her power in Paris (for she had specialised in travellingEnglishmen) could not re-establish her conviction as to the sameness of men. The presence of herprofessed rivals of various nationalities in [11] the Promenade could not restore it either. ThePromenade in its cold, prim languor was the very negation of desire. She was afraid. She foresawruin for herself in this London, inclement, misty and inscrutable.And then she noticed a man looking at her, and she was herself again and the universe was itselfagain. She had a sensation of warmth and heavenly reassurance, just as though she had drunk ananisette or a crême de menthe. Her features took on an innocent expression; the characteristicpuckering of the brows denoted not discontent, but a gentle concern for the whole world and alsovirginal curiosity. The man passed her. She did not stir. Presently he emerged afresh out of themoving knots of promenaders and discreetly approached her. She did not smile, but her eyes lightedwith a faint amiable benevolence-scarcely perceptible, doubtful, deniable even, but enough. Theman stopped. She at once gave a frank, kind smile, which changed all her face. He raised his hat aninch or so. She liked men to raise their hats. Clearly he was a gentleman of means, though inmorning dress. His cigar had a very fine aroma. She classed him in half a second and was happy. Hespoke to her in French, with a slight, unmistakable English accent, but very good, easy, conversational French-French French. She responded almost ecstatically: